Just Like a Fairy Tale
by Roni Black
Summary: Hermione sets out to reveal the truth about her past with Draco on her side. Two star-crossed lovers set on a journey through time and fate. Dramione, EWE.
1. Prologue: The Little Girl

**Title:** Just Like a Fairy Tale**  
Author:** Roni Black**  
Rating:** M, for future chapters.**  
Spoilers:** All seven books.**  
Genre:** Romance, Fantasy.**  
Era:** Two eras – one which I'm not disclosing yet, the other is right after Book Seven. Hermione goes back to her final year at Hogwarts and things take on from there. Obviously, the Epilogue will be viciously ignored in this story. However, I do stick to canon as much as I can.**  
Summary:** Hermione sets out to reveal the truth about her past with Draco on her side. Two star-crossed lovers set on a journey through time and fate.**  
Disclaimer:** It all belongs to the most talented woman in the world, obviously, and her name is JK Rowling.

~*~

**A/N:** I've written something like this before, but now it's different. Hope you like it!

~*~

**Prologue**

_The old wizard looked up from his books. His white hair and beard were glowing softly in the moonlight. It was rather early in the evening, and there was fire in the fireplace on the opposite wall; yet the witch in the long, blue travelling cloak in front of him was shivering._

"_How may I be of service to you, my dear?" the old wizard asked._

"_They say – they say that only you could help me. I – I have no hope left. I am sure you've heard of my eldest daughter's departure – I have not been myself since she left – but – "_

_She took a deep breath. Her shoulders were shaking._

"_Sit, my dear child, sit," said the old wizard kindly, motioning to the soft armchair in front of his desk._

_She sat, burying her face in her hands. The wizard got up and walked over to her. He did so extremely slowly, leaning on a cane. He placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. She took another deep breath and looked up at him._

"_He is back," she whispered._

_The old wizard's expression changed. For the first time, he looked worried._

"_He is back," she repeated. "Merwyn. He is back, and he is threatening my child."_

"_Your child? But you don't mean – "_

"_You know that ever since my husband's death, I have not sought the company of another man. I have dedicated my life to my daughters. But Merwyn is after me, as he had been before my marriage – you will remember. I have turned him down over and over again. I have been foolish to hope that he would give up."_

_She slowly got to her feet, walked over to the window and looked outside as though the moon could give her answers. The old wizard watched her in silence. She spoke so quietly now, that he had to come closer to listen._

"_He will kill my baby daughter. Unless I give in to him."_

"_What did you say?"_

"_He will."_

_She turned around to face him again. "I know he will. He has never yet broken a promise." Her shoulders shaking, she buried her face in her hands again. "He will kill the only ray of hope left in my life. I have been living for this baby ever since my daughter left, and now – now he is going to kill her."_

_The old wizard was, apparently, at loss for words. He walked past her to the window, his bright eyes even brighter by the moonlight. But the witch was not looking at him._

"_Will you help me?" she whispered._

_He did not answer at once, and she inched closer behind him._

"_We have sworn to protect each other. But it is not myself I want you to save. It is only my daughter that I worry about. I beg you, help me save my daughter – "_

"_This is not a question of want," said the wizard sharply. "Of course I would like to help you. I would do anything in my power to help you."_

_She broke into tears again. "You don't believe you can?"_

"_How?" he asked, turning to face her once more. "I cannot fight him. I am old, child, older than you will remember, older than you will ever be. It will not do to place protective charms and curses around her, because he will be able to penetrate them all; do not forget that I have taught him everything I know. I keep no secrets from my students. It will do no good to hide her, either, because he will find her wherever we keep her, and I know of no witch or wizard powerful enough to protect her from Merwyn."_

_He seemed to be lost in thought. The witch stared at him, transfixed, hardly daring to breathe._

"_The only solution I see," he said, extremely slowly, "is to hide your daughter where he cannot find her."_

"_But – but you just said – "_

"_No witch or wizard I know is powerful enough to protect her. But then, I only know witches and wizards from our own time."_

_He stopped, his eyes twinkling at her. The witch froze for a moment, then sighed._

"_I know you have had this long-last fascination with time-travelling, but what on earth – "_

"_The only solution I see," the old wizard cut across her sharply, "is to take your daughter to a place where she can no longer be of danger from him. But I will have to warn you, my dear woman: there are great dangers everwhere. There always have been... and there always will be."_

_But the witch was hardly listening. Her eyes wandered to the large book he was writing, then to the huge hourglass near his desk._

"_Have you found the way?" she breathed._

"_I have."_

~*~

"_You must realize this, though," the wizard said, a few hours later. They were deep in the dark forest, and the hourglass was hovering next to them, having been Disillusioned by the witch all the way from the wizard's office._

_Cheiron, the snow-white centaur, was standing close and watching as the witch and the sleeping child in her arms stood bravely in the circle of light formed by the wizard._

"_Cheiron," cried the witch, as the wizard walked around her in circles, muttering all sorts of enchantments. "Cheiron, you must tell me. You must have seen... I know you are the wisest of them all... Where is my child going? Where am I taking her? What will become of her? Will she survive? Will I ever see her again?"_

_Cheiron stared at her for a few minutes in silence. Her dark eyes were growing more and more fearful. At last, he replied: "Your child is going to a very dark era indeed. Kind strangers will take her and raise her as their own. However, by no means will she have an easy life there. She will go through great dangers and join hands with the power of good to conquer the power of evil, and find love, joy, and happiness. Yes, she will survive."_

"_Will I ever see her again?" the witch asked. Her face was growing whiter and whiter._

"_I cannot be sure," the centaur answered softly. "Time brings what Time sees right."_

_Tears were now pouring quietly down the witch's cheeks. She stared at the sleeping child in her arms for a long time. The child was barely two years old and looked very much like her mother, with dark and curly hair and very pale complexion. Her dark eyes, just like her mother's, were closed, and her small chest was rising and falling with each peaceful breath she took._

~*~

The woman and her child appeared as if from nowhere; they were standing at the edge of a forest, quite different than the forest they had, apparently, just left. A small town was right ahead. The woman slowly let the girl down on the ground. The little girl, having just woken up, didn't seem to want to let go.

"You stay here, darling," said the woman, hugging the little girl tightly. "I am going to leave you for a while, but I will come back soon. Wait here, all right?"

"Don't go, Mother," begged the little girl, "let me go with you!"

"I can't, dear. Stay here."

"Mother, don't leave me here. I'm scared."

The little girl's lips were quivering. The witch swallowed hard and looked over her daughter's shoulder, so she wouldn't see her cry.

"You have nothing to be scared of, darling," she finally said, pressing a kiss to the little girl's forehead. "Nothing here will harm you. I must go now. Do not come after me, it might be dangerous."

She started for the forest.

"No! Mother, don't leave me here!" cried the little girl, bursting into tears.

The woman came back and hugged her tightly. "I cannot take you with me," she whispered. "Shh... it's all right. Wait here. I must go now." She kissed her again, took one long, last look at her, and hurried into the forest. In a moment, she was gone.

The little girl started sobbing. She made a couple of steps as if to follow the woman, but didn't dare to, because she knew it was dangerous. She waited for a little while, trying not to cry. But rather soon, night fell and everything was dark. And darker of all was the forest, in which her mother had disappeared.

The little girl waited a long time, but her mother did not return. After a while she could hardly see the forest anymore, and everything around her was so dark that the only visible light was coming from the windows of the little houses of the nearest town. That was when the little girl gave up and burst out crying again.

"Mother," she sobbed, "come back! Mother! Mother! Please..."

~*~

"Can you hear that?" a woman asked her husband. The two of them were sitting in their kitchen, having dinner together.

"Hear what?" her husband asked.

"It's like... someone is crying out there," said the woman. "Listen closely."

Her husband listened. "Yes, I think you're right. It sounds like it's coming from the forest."

"It's someone in trouble. They need help," said the woman urgently. "Let's go out and find them."

Her husband nodded. "It sounds like a child. It's probably the Davidsons' little boy and he got lost in the forest." He got to his feet. "I'd better take him home."

"I'm coming with you," said his wife, getting her coat.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "It just feels like I need to." They both hurried outside.

"It's freezing out here," said the man. "Why would the Davidsons let little Matthew out on such a cold night?"

"Maybe they didn't know he went out," his wife suggested as the two of them hurried in the direction of the cries. "Maybe they're looking for him. They must be worried sick. And the little guy must be frightened out of his wits."

"Must be," said her husband.

As they got closer, they could hear the sobbing voice more clearly, and after a minute or so they could figure out the words.

"Mother," it cried, "Mother!"

"Poor little Matthew," said the woman.

"M-mother," sobbed the voice, "please come, please..."

"He's terrified," said the man. "And I can't blame him."

"Mother, I'm cold, come and get me..."

"Just around the hill," panted the woman.

"Hang on, Matthew, we're on our way!" cried the man.

Then the couple circled the hill. Saw the sobbing child. And gasped in surprise.

It was a little girl they had never seen before in town. She looked very young – she could not be more than two years old. She was wearing blue and silky robes, sitting on the ground, her face buried in her hands, sobbing heartbreakingly.

The man and the woman froze for a moment, not sure what to do next. Then the woman's maternal instincts overcame her and she hurried forward. Her husband followed her quickly.

"Hey there," the woman said softly, crouching on the ground beside the little girl. "Why are you crying?"

The little girl looked up, and when she saw the two strangers, she let out a frightened gasp and moved backwards in fear.

"No, don't be afraid," said the woman in the same soft voice, "we don't want to harm you. We want to help. Have you got lost? Is that why you're crying?"

The little girl swallowed her tears. "M-my mother told me to wait here for her, but she didn't come back," she stammered.

The man and the woman exchanged glances.

"Where did your mother go?" the man asked, crouching next to her as well.

"Into the forest," said the little girl, pointing to some random spot. "She told me not to follow. She said she'd come back really soon. But she didn't."

The man and the woman exchanged glances again. "She may have been attacked by a wolf," the woman muttered, so that only her husband could hear her.

"Maybe I should go in and look for her," said the man. "Would it make you feel better?" he added, addressing the little girl.

"You won't find her in there," said the girl sadly. "She must have Disapparated by now."

The man and the woman stared at her.

"She must have what?"

"Disapparated," the little girl repeated. "I'm cold," she added, hugging herself and shuddering.

The man took off his own coat at once and wrapped it around the little girl's shoulders, over her strange robes. It was way too big for such a small girl, and the sight brought a smile to their faces.

"I'll tell you what," said the woman. "We'll take you home. You can have dinner with us, you must be really hungry. And you can get some sleep."

"B-but I need to wait for Mother! She t-told me to wait right here!" said the little girl, starting to sob again.

"Oh no, don't cry," said the woman quickly, patting her hair.

"Here. I'll leave your mommy a note right here, and that way she will know where to find you when she comes back," said the man. He took out a piece of paper, scribbled something on it and glued it to a near rock. "She will find that note and come to our house to get you. All right?"

The little girl leaned over the note and read out loud: "Dear Mother, I went with two nice people who live in the closest house right across the hill. Come and get me."

"You can read?" said the man, astonished.

"Of course," said the little girl as if it were obvious.

"How old are you?" the woman wondered.

"Two," the little girl replied, holding up two fingers.

The man and the woman stared at each other, then at the child, then decided to let it go.

"So shall we?" said the man. "Come on, we'll take you home and your mommy will probably come and get you soon."

"All right," the little girl agreed. The man picked her up and held her close and very carefully. Then they started walking, with the woman hurrying along beside them.

"You speak very well for a two-year-old," said the man. "And you can read. I'm really impressed."

"Do you have children?" asked the little girl as they approached the house.

"No," said the woman quietly.

They entered the house and turned on the lights. The little girl looked at the lightbulb in wonder, then looked around her as if this was the first time she saw a house before. The man and the woman stared at her. At last, the little girl looked at the man carrying her, then at his wife.

"Are you Muggles?" she asked.

"Sorry, dear?" said the woman.

The little girl did not reply. She looked around some more, then yawned.

"You should go to bed," said the woman at once. "You must be exhausted. I'll set the guest room." She hurried upstairs.

"By the way, what is your name?" the man asked the little girl.

"It's Hermione," she replied.

~*~

"So what are we going to do with her?" the woman asked. "How will we find her mother?"

"I'll notify the police first thing tomorrow morning," said the man. "They will find her mother. And until then, she can stay here, can't she?"

"Of course she can. I'll take a couple of days off work."

They both stared at each other.

"Did you notice – " the man began.

"Yes," his wife agreed fervently.

"There's something strange about her," the man said.

"I know. It's like she's... really not a normal child. And what did she say about us being Muggles, or something like that?"

"No idea," said the man, shrugging. "And how I wouldn't find her mother, because she must have Disapparated? That was weird. Do you think it was some kind of baby talk? Maybe it's her way of pronouncing another word?"

"Like what?" his wife asked.

There was a long silence.

"What if the police can't find her mother?" the woman asked.

"It's like there was a reason she was there all alone, wasn't there?" said her husband.

"What if we can't find her parents or anybody who knows something about her?" said the woman.

"Then maybe..." the man cleared his throat. "Maybe she can stay here."

His wife gazed at him.

"If we really can't find her relatives," the man added.

"Of course," the woman murmured. "Yes. You're right. She can stay here. With us."

~*~

**A/N:** So, hi everyone! I don't know how often this will be updated, but I'm going to do my best. Please leave me a review!


	2. Phoenixes and Rendezvous

**Chapter One: Phoenixes and Rendezvous**

_September, 1997_

There were ten of them. Ten students who came back to Hogwarts for their final year, to complete their formal education and get their NEWTs. Nineteen-year-old Hermione Granger was relieved to share the same dormitory with Ginny, although she felt a pang, knowing Harry and Ron would not be there. They were to start Auror training soon and Kingsley Shacklebolt, newly-appointed Minister of Magic, did not require any NEWTs from people who had fought in the war.

Hermione, however, was not going to give up on her education. She was surprised to discover that the only other Gryffindor who felt the same way was none other than Neville Longbottom. Four Ravenclaws had come back, and two Hufflepuffs and two Slytherins, including Draco Malfoy.

Hermione had no idea why on earth Malfoy would want to complete his education. Hadn't he been the one to say that formal education meant nothing in the real world? Hadn't he been the one to brag how he had more important things to do? But apparently, she thought, now that Voldemort was gone, he realized no one would give him a proper job unless he had some sort of diploma.

"So, Neville, what do you plan to do after Hogwarts?" Hermione asked. They were sitting in the library with Ginny and Luna, working on Flitwick's latest essay.

"Not sure yet," said Neville, his quill between his teeth as he ran his finger across the heavy book in front of him. "I would like to do something with magical plants, you know, maybe work in some greenhouse. But Gran would like me to join the Ministry."

"I thought your grandmother has finally learned to appreciate your abilities and talents, especially after what happened in May," said Luna, frowning.

"She has," said Neville. "But I think she still wants me to be like Harry, so ever since she heard he was going to be an Auror, she wants me to do the same."

Neville and Luna kept talking, while Ginny, who was sitting next to Hermione, prodded her gently. "Look," she whispered, motioning to the table on the corner of the room. Hermione, looking over, spotted Malfoy sitting there and staring at her. He caught her eye, stared for another moment, his expression unreadable, then went back to his essay.

"What does he want with you?" Ginny asked in a hushed tone.

"No idea," Hermione muttered. "Probably got back his wand." Harry had sent her an owl that morning, telling her he had sent Malfoy his hawthorn wand back.

"I caught him staring yesterday at dinner, too," said Ginny.

Hermione said nothing. She had spotted him staring at her a lot too, but she had an essay to work on, which was much more important than Malfoy at the moment. She had hardly talked to him at all since term began three months ago, and had absolutely no desire to; she had not forgotten his two-faced behavior at the Battle of Hogwarts.

"_I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm Draco, I'm on your side!"_

Hermione shook her head in disgust and went back to her book. Slimy coward.

~*~

"Mr Malfoy! Mr Nott! How many times do I have to ask you to be quiet?"

Hermione looked around. Malfoy and Nott, sitting at the back of the class, had jumped when Professor McGonagall stopped talking to yell at them, her eyes flaring. "Mr Malfoy, this is the fourth time in the past hour that I have had to ask you to be quiet. Five points from Slytherin, and you can come and sit right here in front of my desk."

Malfoy took his bag and came over to sit in the desk next to Hermione and Ginny's. He glanced at Hermione for a second, then his lip curled and he looked down at his textbook.

Hermione decided to ignore him and kept taking notes. Even though Professor McGonagall was explaining about Conjuring spells, which Hermione had already managed to excel in, it never hurt to get some more practice.

"Granger."

Hermione kept her eyes determinedly on the parchment.

"Granger. Granger. Granger!"

She finally looked up. She knew he would talk to her in the end. "What do you want?" she hissed.

"Granger," said Malfoy, "tell your friend I saw her brother in the paper. But then, you would be interested too, wouldn't you? Aren't you _dating_ him now?"

Hermione glared at him. "Ron was in the paper?" she repeated slowly. "How come?"

"Now, everyone, I would like you to start practising – "

Hermione jumped and turned her full attention back to McGonagall.

" – conjuring a phoenix."

It was extremely difficult; despite having practised Conjuring spells before, none of the students in the class was able to conjure an animal so complex. Professor McGonagall walked around the classroom, helping and correcting mistakes, but no one seemed to be making any progress, except for Hermione had finally succeeded on her fifth attempt; and, as Head Girl, she was obligated to help the other students who were having difficulties.

"You have to really concentrate, Ginny," she told her friend. "It might help if you closed your eyes and imagined the phoenix as though it was right here in front of you. Think of its colours... think of its feathers fluttering, its fire, its song... concentrate real hard on it, and it will come."

"You should be writing poems, Granger."

"What do you want, Malfoy?" said Hermione impatiently, turning around as Malfoy joined their desk. Many people were standing huddled now in small groups, attempting the spellwork together.

"Told you, didn't I? I saw your boyfriend in the paper."

"And _why_ was Ron in the paper?"

"He was answering questions about _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_," said Ginny.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Why didn't you show it to me? You know I haven't renewed my subscription yet."

"I didn't know whether you'd want to read about him, since – " Ginny started, but stopped abruptly when she realized Malfoy was still standing there, listening.

"How touching," he sneered now, as Hermione turned scarlet. "Dumped by the Weasel, Granger?"

Hermione turned to face him fully for the first time in months. He was much taller than she was, slender but masculine; his hair sleek and whitish-blond as ever, his grey eyes solemn, the corners of his mouth twitching. Staring at him up close, she recalled having hated him with every fiber of her being in the past. After seeing what had become of him, she merely felt sorry for him. But that feeling was gone. Now she did not feel sorry; she was merely annoyed by his presence, and even more by his words.

"None of your business," she muttered through clenched teeth.

"I seem to have touched a nerve," said Malfoy, still sneering. "Was it painful, being dumped by the Weasel? Did you really fancy him that badly?"

Ginny had got to her feet as well. "Ron did not dump Hermione, for your information," she shot at Malfoy. "It's something they decided together. And stop talking about other people's feelings; it's not as if you ever had any."

Hermione closed her eyes for a second, then determinedly turned her back on both Malfoy and Ginny and went over to another desk to help other students. She did not appreciate any of it; it was true that Ron had not dumped her, but she did not like talking about it, not even to Ginny, and especially not to Malfoy.

She had been fantasising of being Ron's girlfriend for over five years, but when it finally happened, after the first few days of utter happiness, she found herself feeling nothing but bitter disappointment. Nothing could have prepared her for this; she had been sure there was nothing she craved more than his closeness, and finally being able to tell him how much she loved him, how much he'd hurt her when he dated Lavender, how she had been dreaming of him in such longing for such a long time... But it just wasn't what she had hoped for. There was nothing wrong with him, but there was definitely something wrong with their relationship, and after a few weeks of pretending everything was perfect, Hermione had to give up and admit she had liked it better when they had just been friends.

It was a terrible thing to admit, because she had truly believed Ron was the one for her, and even now, she still wasn't convinced that he wasn't; but it was like tasting wine and finding it bitter. Finally confessing her feelings to Ron with tears in her eyes, she was shocked to discover he was feeling the same way.

**_Flashback_**

"_W-what do you mean?" she stammered._

"_I know what you mean," said Ron with a sigh. "Because I've been feeling the same way. Ever since we got together, it's just not – well, what you said. Not what we've been hoping for. Not what we've been dreaming about."_

"_It's not that I don't care about you or anything – " Hermione began._

"_I know," said Ron at once._

_They gazed at each other for a long time._

"_Maybe we should just... not throw this out of the window... yet," Hermione suggested quietly. "I mean, we have been waiting for this to happen for such a long time. Maybe we could... put this on hold for a while. Try going out with other people. See what it's like."_

_Ron nodded._

"_I do believe you're the man I'm going to marry," said Hermione. It took all her courage to say this, still looking right into his blue eyes which she had grown to love so much. "But I cannot force myself to want this right now."_

**_End Flashback_**

She still possessed strong feelings for Ron, there was no doubt. But on the whole, she felt relieved. Four months of being his girlfriend had been unexpectedly exhausting, and made her even more disappointed in their realtionship, and in herself.

~*~

Malfoy, apparently, was not losing interest in the subject, or perhaps he was simply bored; after that lesson, at any case, he started teasing her at every chance he got. Hermione gritted her teeth and did her best to ignore him. It was not as easy as she would have thought.

"Granger, what does _ehwaz_ mean?"

Once again, Hermione was walking around the classroom and helping students in need. Unlike McGonagall, Professor Babbling, the Ancient Runes teacher, did not feel obligated to help the students; she merely sat at her desk while Hermione passed from desk to desk and answered questions.

"Partnership," said Hermione, passing next to Malfoy's desk. This was one word she would never again forget or mix up.

"Wait," he whined, "I need some more help."

She rolled her eyes and went back to his desk. "What is it, Malfoy?"

"Could you go over my translations?"

Her eyes gliding along the parchment, she could feel his eyes on her. She determinedly avoided his penetrating gaze and kept on reading.

"I haven't got all day, Granger, how long is this going to take?" he complained.

"Almost as long as your ferret's tail," she snapped.

"Good one," he retorted. "Not nearly as long as your molars, though, I hope?"

Hermione took a deep breath, pulled herself together and placed the parchment back on his desk. "Almost perfect," she told him. "But _haglaz_ means _hail_."

"Good," he said, correcting it. "Lucky you're good at runes, Granger. Do you think if you knew the language of love as well you could convince the Weasel to take you back?"

~*~

It was very late; Hermione was patrolling the corridor on the fifth floor – the worst part of being a Head Girl. She felt sorry for not bringing a book with her; she was extremely bored, but having been warned that reading while patrolling was frowned upon, she thought it best not to take risks. Usually they patrolled in pairs, and some prefect was indeed supposed to join her, but no one had shown up in the past hour.

She might as well practise some spellwork, as long as she was here. True, she was going home for Christmas tomorrow, and would have plenty of time to practise, but it couldn't hurt. She drew out her wand, concentrated hard for a moment and conjured a phoenix. She then sat down on the floor and gazed at it for a long time; it was the most beautiful bird. It drew closer to her and allowed her to pet it softly with one finger.

A few minutes later, however, it was gone; like all conjured creatures, it vanished rather quickly. Professor McGonagall had told them the more they practised, the longer their creaures would stay around. Hermione was just about to draw out her wand and conjure another phoenix when the door in front of her opened and Draco Malfoy stepped out.

Hermione muttered to herself angrily; _why_ was it that he kept showing up wherever she went? He had evidently just stepped out of the shower. His blond hair was wet, no gel, and softer-looking than she had ever seen it, and he was wearing nothing but a long black bathrobe, revealing most of his chest. Hermione caught herself staring for a fraction of a second, then, horrified, she regained her dignity.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she snapped.

"Well, let's see, Granger," he said. "I'm either going over my stamp collection, or I'm getting out of the shower." He looked around mockingly. "I don't see any stamps, do you? Must be the second one."

"It's past midnight," said Hermione forcefully, getting to her feet. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"I'm a prefect," he shot back.

"You're not on duty, though."

"Of course I am. Why else would I still be here?"

"Wha – you were supposed to patrol with me tonight?" Hermione screeched.

"Oh, yes. As thrilled as I was to spend some time alone with you, I thought a shower might do me better." He examined her outraged expression, looking utterly amused. "What? Going to tell on me? Put me in detention?"

Hermione said nothing. She merely glared at him. She couldn't believe how obnoxious he had become.

"It's nearly Christmas," she finally said sarcastically, "time to be gracious and forgiving to those in desperate need of it."

"Wow, thank you, Mother Theresa," said Malfoy, rolling his eyes. "I'll bet this act of dignity will make the front page of the _Prophet_. _Boy-Who-Lived Ex-Girlfriend Takes Pity of Pureblood and Saves His Arse from Terrible Detention_ – "

"You know, Malfoy, if someone were to listen to you, they'd think you were delusional. This morning you were on about me and Ron, and now you tell me I'm Harry's ex-girlfriend? Just because you don't mind toying with girls' feelings – "

"When have I ever toyed with a girl's feelings?" he interrupted.

"I saw what you were doing with Parkinson. Not that I care, mind you, she's a bitch. But letting her stroke your hair like that while you had absolutely no feelings for her – "

Malfoy took one step closer. "Why should you care what I let Parkinson do?"

"I don't," she retorted, feeling her cheeks heat up without any idea why, "I'm just giving you an example! Although, I suppose you couldn't get any other girl to stroke your hair like that, so even Parkinson is all right!"

"I've got them begging to stroke my hair," said Malfoy nastily. "Why, jealous of my hair, Granger? Want me to give you the perfect conditioner to control those horrible locks of yours?"

"I'd like nothing better," said Hermione. "Then maybe I could put _that_ on the _Prophet_." She imitated his voice: "_Boy-Who-Lived Ex-Arch-Nemesis's Secret Revealed: I've Had Hair Transplant_!"

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to be laughing?" he shot back.

They glared at each other for another long moment.

"Why have you been staring at me?" Hermione demanded abruptly.

"Pardon me?"

"I've seen you. It's been weeks and you've done nothing but stare at me. I see it during meals, I see it in the library and during lessons. I know you've been staring. Why?"

Malfoy took a menacing step closer. Refusing to step back, Hermione remained where she was, staring valiantly back into his grey eyes. "Oh, I've been staring," he said quietly. "I've just been wondering how someone of your kind – Gryffindor, friends with the Wonder Twins – "

"They've both got names!" Hermione exploded. "And will you please stop referring to my friends like that – they've got so much more dignity and character than you've ever imagined having – and at any case, it's _me_ you're facing now!"

Malfoy stared at her for a long moment, and she found herself paralysed, staring back; for a few minutes she couldn't help but staring, then she felt herself being pushed up roughly against the wall.

"What – " she gasped.

"It is you I'm facing right now," he breathed, coming even closer, his nose almost against hers, staring directly into her eyes. She was paralysed, terrified; he had caught her completely off-guard, and for some reason, she found her hand wouldn't obey her as she ordered it to draw out her wand.

"And without the pair of them, strolling at your side like two bodyguards – "

"Let go – "

"You look so much different." He leaned in closer, pressing himself against her. She couldn't move. She was trapped. She could feel the heat from his body, the warmth and slight wetness of his skin; she could smell the perfumed foam from the bath.

"Completely different," he whispered, then kissed her hard, before she could foresee it; she was not ready for this. She tried to push him off, but his lips were melting into hers; before she knew it, she was responding. They were kissing feverishly and Hermione tasted fire and ice as her body trembled in his arms; she found herself moaning into the kiss and clinging to him, her hands entangled in his hair (and it was definitely not a transplant, she noted), his hand on the back of her neck, the other around her waist, pulling her even closer.

It may have been a minute or an eternity before he pulled away and looked at her. She looked back, and for the first time she'd been drained of emotion; she could not feel anything except wishing to drown in his grey eyes, and cursing herself for wanting him to kiss her again.

As he leaned in, she closed her eyes again, but he was merely whispering in her ear: "Merry Christmas." She could feel his breath on her neck. Then he released her completely.

When she opened her eyes again, he was gone.


End file.
